Highland Troth (Highland Talents Book 3)

by Willa Blair

  Jamie supposed it could have been worse. The man could have talked his ear off the entire trip, though at least then, Jamie might have gleaned a hint or two about the situation before him. Toran’s mention of rumors about the MacGregor made Jamie itch in his ribs under his arm, where he’d taken an arrow last year and nearly died. Not only was he concerned about what he might be getting into, but what he might be taking Caitrin Fletcher into. Yet, she was the linchpin. The enticement. The one thing the Fletcher pinned his hopes to for the betterment of his clan. Fletcher’s clan, not Lathan’s. So what about this trip, this errand, made Jamie uneasy?

  He shifted in his saddle and considered the problem from another angle. He no longer knew the MacGregor. Their time together at St. Andrews was five years gone, and they hadn’t been close. Arriving only a few months after his sister’s death, Jamie had not been the most motivated of students and as a result, had fallen under the watchful eye of several of his tutors, which meant extra hours of study. MacGregor completed his time at St. Andrews during Jamie’s second session there. Before Alasdair left, he had been more interested in socializing and more practiced at getting around his tutors, so they rarely crossed paths. But taking on the mantle of leadership changed a man, especially if that burden came unexpectedly, as it had to many younger sons, and daughters, of lairds killed at Flodden. Chances were, Jamie would barely recognize Alasdair MacGregor when they met again.

  Of course, Jamie no longer knew Caitrin Fletcher, either. He hadn’t laid eyes on her in six years. She might be nothing like the bonnie lass she’d been as a fosterling with clan Lathan. Since then, she’d had six years to grow up, six years to change, six years to harden, six years to...oh, hell. He bit his lower lip for a moment, trying to distract himself, but it didn’t work. What if she remained exactly the same? He’d been half in love with her then. Half maddened by any notice she gave Toran. How would it feel to see her now? No longer a lass too young for his attentions, but a woman ripe for marriage…and the marriage bed. Bollocks. This line of thinking was getting him nowhere good.

  And how would she react when she saw him? She probably expected Toran, primed for battle, reading to defend against his teasing and taunting. Or to use well-practiced feminine wiles to gain his favor, or her revenge. Jamie regretted some of the things they’d done at Toran’s instigation while trying to rid themselves of their unwanted and annoying shadow. At least that’s how Toran had characterized her, and Jamie had no doubt she knew it. Toran never hid how he felt. But if Toran had been the one to make this trip, to escort her to her betrothal, she’d have been surprised at the changes in him since he’d been forced to become the Lathan laird. Bearing that responsibility, he’d grown up, matured, in all the ways that mattered. Even more since Aileana’s arrival.

  More than likely, Caitrin would be prepared for an interesting, even irritating, trip to her betrothal, but no more than that. She’d be focused on her eagerness, or her anxiety, to meet her prospective husband. Women obsessed about such things.

  Jamie glanced around at Kyle and the four other Lathans riding with him on the way to guard and escort Caitrin. Donal had trained them well to fight, but also to avoid a fight. Judging by their silence and the movement of their eyes as they rode, they were alert and aware of their surroundings. They would be even more careful once Caitrin joined them. It wouldn’t do to let her be stolen away by bandits or brigands or lowlanders. The territory between the Fletcher and the MacGregor keeps was not known to be particularly dangerous, but it paid to be prepared. A large party attracted attention a smaller party might avoid. Toran wanted allies, not enemies. Peace, not war.

  Finally, Jamie looked down upon a broad glen. At Will’s nod, he surmised they’d arrived. The Fletcher keep was a tower house with wings built off two sides, added, Jamie supposed, years or even generations after the original tower had been built to secure the surrounding glen. Like most keeps of its type, the tower’s ground floor had no windows and only one door. The first floor above it had tall, narrow slits, openings for raining arrows down upon an attacker. Above those were larger, glazed windows, intended to provided light and air to the living quarters. The wings boasted small windows on the ground floor and larger ones above, where Jamie supposed were more living quarters.

  All in all, it was an impressive keep, though not on the scale of the Lathan’s Aerie, and certainly not as imposing as Donal and Ellie MacKyrie’s keep. But it would do to protect the inhabitants, allow for a defense, and if worse came to worst, hold off attackers long enough for help to arrive.

  Jamie anticipated no problems getting the Fletcher to sign Toran’s treaty. He would welcome allies. The MacGregor might be another matter entirely.

  MacGregor had an army of his own and might find a treaty such as Toran’s unnecessary. Even inhibiting, if he had designs on his neighbors’ lands and goods. Toran’s warning echoed in Jamie’s mind. He’d be wise to tread carefully until he understood the situation, and not assume he knew the MacGregor based on his recollections of a lad from school.

  But now, he had a more pleasant matter to deal with. Caitrin. Where was she?

  An older man exited the keep’s stout door, followed by several lads. “Uilleam, I see ye were successful.” At Will’s nod toward Jamie, he continued speaking. “Greetings, Laird Lathan.”

  Jamie shook his head. “I fear I must disappoint ye. I am Jamie Lathan, envoy, come to answer the Fletcher’s request at my laird’s bidding.”

  “Ah, be welcome then. I am steward here, Hugh Fletcher at yer service.” He gestured to the lads with him. “These laddies will take yer mounts to be cared for. Come within. I’ll get ye and yer men settled, and send lady Caitrin word ye’ve arrived.”

  “Thank ye. I’m looking forward to meeting her again.”

  Jamie beckoned to his men as the taciturn Will dismounted.

  “I’ll leave ye in Hugh’s capable hands,” Will said. “I must speak to Caitrin.” He headed for the door before Jamie had a chance to respond.

  Jamie frowned briefly at his back then, at Hugh’s gesture, moved forward. He stepped into the Fletcher keep’s windowless lower floor behind the steward. Will had already passed through and disappeared.

  Torches lined the walls, every other one lit to illuminate the large space. A hearthfire glowed in the opposite corner of the room and stairs ran along one wall, ending opposite the entry. Under the stairs, a low doorway gave into a hall Jamie surmised to be in one of the wings built after the original tower. Sure enough, Hugh led them through. The Lathan men had to duck to get under the lintel. Doorways lined the hall and stairs were visible at the far end. Hugh indicated several doors. “These are guest-chambers. Make yerselves comfortable as ye see fit. There is water for bathing in each, should ye care to clean up before ye meet the mistress.”

  Jamie grinned. “Aye, and welcome that will be.”

  “An hour, then?” Hugh asked. “The evening meal will be served at that time in the tower hall abovestairs.”

  “We’ll join ye, then. I look forward to renewing my acquaintance with Lady Fletcher.”

  ****

  Rona answered the knock on the door as Caitrin finished brushing out her hair. At Uilleam’s low-voiced greeting, the old nurse stood aside and allowed him entry.

  Caitrin’s nerves tightened. The Lathans were here. But which Lathans? “Will, it was ye who rode up. I thought as much.” Caitrin stood and went to the Fletcher ghillie, placing her hand on his forearm in greeting. “It’s good to have ye back. Did the Lathan return with ye?”

  “Thank ye. And nay, Toran Lathan didna make the trip. His wife is nearing her childbed, so he was loathe to leave.”

  “Toran, married?” The woman must be a saint. “Who came with ye, then?” Caitrin’s heart beat a little faster. She took a calming breath and told herself not to be a silly fool.

  “He sent an envoy and a handful of others to escort ye.”

  Could it be? “Do these Lathans have names?” Trust Will to withhold the
one piece of news she could not wait to hear.

  “Aye.”

  So that was the game he played. “Will…”

  He narrowed his eyes, but a corner of his mouth quirked up. “I answered yer question.”

  Caitrin huffed an exasperated breath. “What are their names? I wish to find out if I kent any of them while I lived there.”

  “Ye’ll see them all at evening meal, won’t ye?”

  “Will!”

  He glanced at Rona, but since she couldn’t see his expression, Caitrin knew he’d get no help there.

  “Verra well. The envoy is Jamie Lathan.”

  Caitrin’s heart beat faster at the mention of his name. Jamie, at Fletcher! After all these years.

  Only the slight knitting of Rona’s brow signaled her displeasure at this news.

  Caitrin kept her expression calm as Will named the other Lathans, Kyle, Bram, Ewan and Lorn. None seemed familiar.

  “I argued for a larger group,” Will continued, “but the Lathan and his envoy both felt a smaller party would attract less notice.”

  Caitrin managed not to roll her eyes. “They did? Well, let’s hope they are correct.” A sudden case of nerves plagued her. Her hands tingled and she wanted to pace, but her chamber felt too crowded. What she’d hoped for had come to pass. Now she had to deal with it and with him. Jamie. What if Rona was right and she’d spent the last six years imagining rather than remembering him? She could only guess who he was now. How had he changed from the gangly lad she knew?

  The lad who’d insisted she leave the Aerie when she’d come to him in tears with the news they were sending her home. She’d thought he would defend her and argue for her to remain, safe behind the Aerie’s high walls. But he’d surprised her. Toran had said she was too young to ken what was best for her, and to do what she was told. But for Jamie to agree? That hurt. At the time, it felt like a betrayal. She still didn’t know what about his sister’s death had made her safety an issue, since the body had been found in the forest, but the entire keep had been in an uproar. And the look in Jamie’s eyes that day had broken her heart.

  “To risk ye with so small an escort?”

  Will’s voice sounded like an echo of something she’d heard that awful day, but it served to yank her attention back to the present. At least this time, she had some control over the arrangements being made in her name.

  “Nay,” he continued. “Fletchers will ride with ye, too.”

  She nodded, knowing he meant well. “Ye ken I’d be proud to have ye with me, Uilleam. But I want to hear what Jamie Lathan has to say before we decide on the size of the escort.”

  “There’s naught to decide. Yer safety is most important. Yer da would never forgive yer loss.”

  “Yet, he’s bargaining to be rid of me as we speak.” Her lips compressed into a stubborn line. This tugging her to and fro felt all too familiar.

  “Lass,” Rona chided.

  “Only for the good of the clan,” said Will, who could see her expression. “And yer own, married to a rich and powerful laird. ’Tis a better match than he could find for ye here.”

  Caitrin couldn’t miss the frustration in his tone, but she shrugged and moved to the window to let Uilleam’s statement pass unremarked. How all of this commotion must gall him. Not just the commotion, but the reason for it. Her betrothal.

  The empty courtyard below didn’t surprise her. She expected Hugh would have already brought the Lathan party to the guest quarters. She just needed some space from Will’s pronouncements.

  “I’d best go check with Cook.” At Uilleam’s stern look, she smiled. He did have her best interests at heart. He did not deserve her pique. “We have guests. I must be hostess in my da’s stead and make sure all is prepared.”

  “Very well. I’ll escort ye.”

  “In my own keep? No’ needful, Will. Go to yer chamber and take care of yer own needs. I’ll see ye in the great hall.”

  “Lass.”

  “Dinna lass me, too, Will Fletcher.” Caitrin glanced from him to Rona and back again then shook her head, her charity toward him replaced by exasperation. She brushed past him to the door, resting a hand on Rona’s shoulder for a moment, then turned back to Will. “Come. We’ve both places to be and things to do.”

  ****

  MacGregor leaned back in his chair and regarded the man standing before him in his solar. He’d left Fletcher standing for some minutes while he ostensibly considered his latest proposal in their negotiation for his daughter’s hand. Fletcher’s wishes were of no more consequence to MacGregor than the dust motes dancing in the shafts of sunlight illuminating the room.

  Fletcher appeared calm and determined, yet a hint of nervousness leaked through. MacGregor liked that. He preferred to keep his underlings off-balance, unsteady and unsure of his next move. Standing while he sat, waiting for his judgment. Their uncertainty added a layer of protection he relied on. No one would attempt to overthrow him unless they were sure of his intentions. Or saw past his strengths to his weaknesses. He made certain they never did. Not until he was ready for them to know, and then only so they could comply with his demands and do his bidding.

  He let his gaze roam from Fletcher, who must be longing to hear his answer, or at least to get off his feet, to the view out the window of the curtain wall and the fortifications on it. He liked being chief. He relished the power of the position. Ever since he’d inherited the seat from his elder brother, who’d got it after their da’s and eldest brother’s deaths at Flodden four years ago, he’d wielded power with one goal in mind. He could be single-minded. His brother had considered him frivolous, scattered even, and had made the mistake of underestimating his ambition. It was the last mistake he’d ever made. After their losses at Flodden, the hunting accident had been seen by those in the clan as a second tragedy. Only MacGregor knew it culminated the first stage of his plan.

  Now Fletcher offered him a new amusement. His daughter—to bear MacGregor heirs and cement his position in the clan. Not that he didn’t have a number of bastards already. But none of the lasses he’d encountered so far had deserved to wrest the title of Lady of the MacGregors from his widowed mother. Perhaps the Fletcher lass would meet his measure. He must think on how else she could serve his ambitions. But ultimately, she was a secondary consideration.

  The real enticement was the presence of the Lathan laird as her escort. He’d been thrilled when Fletcher announced that bit of good news. Did Fletcher think that tie made her more valuable to him? It did, aye, but not in the way Fletcher anticipated.

  Dared he make such an audacious move? To take the Aerie’s laird hostage and demand the wealth of the clan for his return? Surely, in that impregnable fortress, the Lathans had amassed several fortunes through the years. And gotten soft, sloppy, and secure behind their walls. Tired of raiding the neighboring clans and ready for bigger game, he risked warfare, and siege, but the payoff would be worth the trouble. Fletcher was the key to the Aerie, the Lathans’ stronghold. Lathan wealth would buy an army of a size even the Regent’s forces could not match.

  Or he could be less direct.

  Fletcher’s daughter interested him because the lass had fostered in the Aerie. She probably knew her way around—particularly, how to get in and out—without being seen. A clan’s children always discovered its secrets. He would only need a few men on the inside to throw open the gates to the rest of his soldiers, and the Aerie would be his.

  Did the lass know enough to make her worth the alliance Fletcher proposed? If she was comely, and biddable, he would enjoy finding out. If she did not live up to the promise of her upbringing—and her fostering—he could amuse himself with her then dispose of her.

  In the meantime, until she arrived, he’d have some fun with her father.

  Chapter Three

  Jamie waited in the Fletcher hall for Caitrin to put in her appearance. He knew his heart should not beat faster, nor should his palms be damp. He should not care. He was here to do a job
for his laird, nothing more. But the anticipation of seeing what…who…the Caitrin he recalled had become was almost more than he could take sitting down. He wanted to surge to his feet and pace the length of the hall in agitation. Instead, he remained seated where the steward had directed him, in the place of honor at the high table, to the right of the laird’s seat. He did his best to seem relaxed, watching the goings-on around him with mild disinterest.

  A slight stir of movement and the sound of greetings being exchanged outside the door was the only warning he got. She arrived and Jamie’s breath left him in a low exhale that barely escaped becoming an appreciative whistle as he rose to his feet. Stunning. She’d morphed from coltish and pretty into a breathtaking woman, beautifully curved, proud and…haughty? Her stiff posture as she approached warned him that their former easy camaraderie might be a thing of the past, indeed. Her first words as she took the laird’s seat next to him confirmed it.

  “My escort, are ye, Jamie Lathan?” she groused as he reseated himself next to her. “Growing up, ye felt ye had to do Toran’s bidding. I see that hasna changed.”

  “On the contrary,” Jamie answered in his most diplomatic tone, though it pained him to keep his voice level when his gut demanded the answer to why. Why was she on the offensive? And why was she so displeased to see him? “On the contrary, much has changed.” He gave her his best disarming grin. “Besides, Toran is laird now, and married, with bairns due to arrive at any time. His loyalty lies, rightly so, with his lady wife.”

  “Indeed. What of the loyalty he owes his clan?”

  “How do ye mean?” Jamie’s earlier fears seemed well-founded. He couldn’t believe she really would have preferred Toran as her escort. The thought made him heartsore. And angry after the many years he had spent mooning over losing her in the troubled times that followed his sister’s death. This haughty creature was not the Caitrin of his memories. Far from it.